


that's what i like

by chalantness



Series: drabble collections [10]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Captain America (Movies), DCU (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 17:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15611547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: Collection of prompt fills from my fluffy trope meme on tumblr.





	1. Steve/Natasha - best friends to lovers au + drunken confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "romanovascap asked: hey for that mini fluff thing you recently posted i want to see the best friends to lovers au in of course romanogers. Thanks lol and maybe a drunken confessions tie in to go with that. thanks again chanty! I know you’ll do an amazing job with it"

“You’re supposed to be more helpful than this, Rogers.”

He chuckles, drains the last of his beer before setting the bottle down on her nightstand. She’s definitely a hell of a lot more stressed about this interview than she’s let on all week, because she hasn’t even batted an eye at the fact that he still has his shoes on as he’s lounging on her bed. Natasha never misses the chance to tease him about propping his feet up anywhere, not after he told her not to put her feet on the dash of Sam’s truck when they borrowed it for their drive up to Brooklyn. Sam probably wouldn’t have cared, and that had been four years ago at this point, but still. Finding small, insignificant ways to get under each other’s skin has kind of always been their thing, and their friends have long stopped trying to figure out _why_.

“Well, you might want to start with putting on a shirt,” he tells her, then holds his hands up as if in surrender when she narrows her eyes at him.

She rolls her eyes, but he catches the breathy chuckle that falls from her lips when she mutters, “thanks for nothing, you ass.” She turns back to her closet and he grabs the large, stuffed dog he won her at a fair last summer, laying it across his lap. Partly because he’s buzzed and bored, but mostly because Natasha is standing there in her little black skirt that’s always made her legs go on for _miles_ , and her favorite red bra, and _nothing else_ , and he’s more than a little uncomfortable in his jeans right now.

Fuck, he really shouldn’t be thinking of Natasha like this. They’re _roommates_ for starters. And also, they’re best friends, and have been ever since they met at a terrible dorm party their freshman year of college. He bumped into her in the kitchen in an attempt to get him and Bucky more beer, and she’d told him an _awful_ joke about dinosaurs, and she’s pretty much had him in the palm of her hand ever since. He brought her coffee to their morning lecture because he knew she hated getting out of bed so early, and he took online trivia quizzes with her in the middle of the night because she loved them so much, and he’d downloaded an entire playlist of ballet scores to listen to when they studied because she swore that it was the only thing that helped her focus.

He can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do for her, and he can’t be selfish right now. She wants his support, and she doesn’t need the distraction of all of these _things_ he’s been feeling for quite a while. Things like his urge to kiss her all the damn time, and the way he always wants her to curl up against his chest, and the fact that he literally _cannot_ imagine his future without her.

(Things like how he’s fallen in love with her.)

“The dark blue one,” he says after a moment, and she pauses, glancing over her shoulder at him. He grins. “Your dark blue blouse? You should wear that to the interview. It’s always been a really good color on you.”

Her expression eases in relief, and it’s stupid how something as simple as helping her pick out her shirt makes him feel so damn _content_. He feels warm and tingly, and he knows it’s not just because he’s had a few beers tonight.

“Fuck, I really hope I don’t screw this interview up.”

“You _won’t_ ,” he insists, and her eyes soften at his voice, her fingers pausing over the buttons of her blouse. Okay, maybe he’d told her to wear that shirt because _he_ loves the color on her so much, but whatever. She looks beautiful in everything, and he doubts anyone is immune to her charm. “You’ll have them eating out of the palm of your hand, especially if you look them in the eyes.”

She looks amused. “My eyes?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure anyone who looks into them falls in love with you,” he says with a chuckle and a shake of his head, leaning back against her pillows and closing his eyes. “God knows I did, staring into them all these years.”

A soft, sharp gasp.

A pause.

It takes a moment longer than it should for him to really hear himself, to realize the words that have left his lips, because it isn’t until he hears her ask, “Steve?” in a voice so soft, so vulnerable, so _hopeful_ , that he opens his eyes. Her gaze is on him, her eyes a little wide and her lips parted, and the weight of his words - of her stare - settles on his chest. He swallows lightly, staring into those bright, beautiful eyes.

 _Shit_.


	2. Steve/Natasha - cuddling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Anonymous asked: Ohhhh my gawd I looooove your writing so I’m super excited to read all the submissions you answer! If I could kindly request romanogers wherein Natasha is secretly a huge cuddler and when Steve asks why, the reason completely takes him by surprise. I hope your life is going great darling"

He smiles when he hears the bathroom door click open, her voice trailing through the air with the steam from her shower, and the sweet scent of her vanilla shampoo. Her fragrance of choice is always changing, and it’s become this sort of game between them, seeing if he can figure it out without having to flip the bottle over. When she feels like teasing him, she’ll get something floral because he can barely even name five flowers off the top of his head, let alone try to tell them apart just by scent. Fruits are easier for him to guess, and they quickly figured out that cherries and plums drive him _wild_. She just smells so damn _delicious_ , and more often than not, he’s grabbing her by her waist and tossing her onto their bed before she’s barely stepped out of the bathroom, decorating her skin with his teeth marks and then soothing the bruises with long laves of his tongue.

He’d been quick to guess the cinnamon and vanilla scent the very first time she used it, and he’s decided that it’s quickly becoming one of his favorites.

She knows it, too, because she’s got that twinkle in her eyes as she bites on her lower lip, climbing onto their massive bed and sliding over to his side. She tugs one of his arms over her and curls into his side, tucking her face into the curve of his neck. Her skin is still all warm and flushed from the hot water, her hair damp against his shirt, but he hardly minds. Not at all.

He _loves_ her when she’s like this: her entire body relaxed, her arms and legs wrapped loosely around him, her steady breaths fanning against his pulse. Some nights she’ll turn on the TV and watch for a little, though she’s quick to grow bored, opting to occupy herself with peppering soft kisses over every inch of skin she can get to. Most nights they’ll both have files or reports or whatnot on their tablets to catch up on, yet she still tucks herself into his side to do so.

Tonight he’s got his sketchpad with him, because it’s been sitting on his nightstand and he realized he hasn’t actually opened it in a while. It’s a new one that Peter got him, and so far Natasha has been the only thing to fill the pages. Not that that’s much of a surprise, but still.

“I’m not sure if this is supposed to be charming or creepy,” she teases as she traces her fingers over the page, along the edge of one of her penciled curls. He’d drawn her with her head on his chest, much like it is now, angled the way he sees her when he peers down. She’s asleep, a soft smile playing on the corners of her lips, her hair sort of falling in her face, and his hand is covering hers where it’s resting on his chest. It’s an image he’s committed to memory - not just because she looks so fucking _beautiful_ like this, but also because he gets to see it quite often. For all of her teasing attempts at escaping his hugs around their friends, she seems content to be wrapped around him in the comfort of their apartment. She fits herself into his side, crawls on his lap and winds her body around his, as if she _needs_ to be as close to him as possible.

“Well, you do it so often, it’s the only thing I can think to draw,” he teases back as he kisses the top of her hair. _Fuck_ , she smells good.

She tips her head back, arching an eyebrow. “Is that a complaint, soldier?”

“ _No_ ,” he laughs, and then he kisses her, and she cups his jaw and scratches her nails over the stubble he’s let grow out. “Though, I _am_ curious as to why you’re especially clingy as soon as we get home,” he murmurs against her lips.

She tips her head back to meet his gaze, her lips curving at the corners, and for a moment he thinks she’s going to say something vague and teasing.

But then she says, “because this is where I feel safest,” in this soft, almost breathy sort of voice, stroking the pad of her thumb along his jaw. His breath almost catches in his throat, too distracted by that _look_ in her eyes.

“What?” It comes out in this sort of chuckle, but she doesn’t take it the wrong way. She just smiles a little wider, her eyes twinkling, like that’s exactly the reaction she expected. “ _You’re_ the one that keeps us safe. You always have.”

“I know. That’s not what I mean.” Gently, she pushes his sketchbook from his lap and onto the bed, shifting to straddle his hips and lean herself against his chest. His arms wrap around her, and she lets out this little sigh of contentment as she practically melts into his touch, dropping her forehead against his. “ _Being_ safe is one thing. I’ve always known I could keep myself safe. I was taught to.”

He swallows, his throat feeling a little tight, and she leans back to meet his gaze. There’s a slight flush on her cheeks, though he’s certain that’s got nothing on the warmth that’s unfurling in his stomach, that’s thrumming through his veins. “But _this_ , right here? With these arms wrapped around me? This is the first place that’s ever felt safe enough to call my home.” She slides her hands up his chest, resting them right over his heart. He wonders if she can feel how the beats trip in his chest. “You make me feel safe,” she says simply.

His voice is caught in his throat, which is probably a good thing, because he couldn’t even begin to find the words even if he tried.

So he squeezes her just a little bit tighter against him, rolls them over so that she’s pressed beneath him, and the way she peers up at him is nothing short of beautiful. He wants to draw her like this, wants to draw _them_ like this - his body coiled over hers, blocking out the rest of the world - but mostly, he just wants to kiss her, and the little whimper that she lets out when he does is probably his favorite sound _ever._


	3. Steve/Natasha - jealousy + drunken confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "sassaspazz asked: oooh for the mini trope meme, may I please request Romanogers + jealousy + drunk love confession?"
> 
> Part of the [one night stand 'verse](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/tagged/one-night-stand-'verse).

She’s irritated. She _knows_ she is, and the stupid part is that she has no reason to be. It was simple as far as undercover ops go, and most of the evening had been spent mingling since their target hadn’t left the ballroom until an hour ago. Cornering him had been easy enough, and after he’d been apprehended and put in the back of a squad car to be taken into custody, they did a quick sweep of his hotel suite and gave his things for forensics to take care of.

She’d had more than a few cocktails through the night, and with the mission over, the adrenaline of their op had given way to the buzz of the alcohol in her veins, making everything feel a little warmer and lighter. The entire night had been open-and-shut, and they would be home two days earlier than planned.

She should’ve been pleased, maybe even a little bit smug.

But all she can focus on is the curl of irritation in her stomach, her fingers itching in a need to hit something.

“Nat?”

She glances up at the mirror as Steve steps into the bathroom, catching her gaze in the reflection, and it’s _stupid_ that all it takes is to see his bright blue eyes openly staring at her in concern for the tightness in her stomach to ease. She offers him a small, unconvincing smile, which he immediately sees right through. She doesn’t know when Steve got so damn good at reading her, or when she decided she didn’t _care_ , that she actually kind of _loves_ it.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and soft and breathy, the way it gets sometimes when he’s worried. He steps forward, grasps her arms gently and smooths his hands up her flushed skin. No doubt he can hear the way her heart is tripping and thumping in her chest, the way her breaths have grown shallow, sharp. “Talk to me,” he urges, giving her a squeeze.

And she’s _done for_.

“You did really well tonight,” she tells him, reaching around the back of her neck to unfasten her necklace. But he pushes her hands away, and her skin tingles where his fingers brush her skin as he undoes the clasp. There are more to her words than she’s letting on, and he holds her gaze in the reflection, dragging the necklace from her throat and setting it on the counter. Then he brushes her hair aside and starts to unfasten her dangling earring, and this simple, sweet gesture makes her chest squeeze. “All those girls really fawned over your act.”

Even that confession, twisted around a simple observance, seemed too _raw_.

“Yeah.” He sets the earring down, then pushes her hair over the other side of her neck, purposefully trailing his fingers over the tripping pulse in her neck before unfastening her other earring. He sets that down, too, then licks his lips a little, seeming to try to find the words as his hands curve over her shoulders. “It was an _act_ , and a good one, because I had a damn good teacher.”

“Steve.”

He grasps her chin with his fingers, turning her head to meet his eyes directly. Her stomach flutters, a warmth unfurling at the intensity of his stare.

“I didn’t like it.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

There’s a twinkle in his eyes, almost teasing, though his tone is nothing but genuine when he says, “I didn’t like it, either,” and she knows it means more.

_I didn’t like those girls touching me, either._

_I didn’t like watching you flirt, either._

_I didn’t like being anywhere but right beside you, either._

“Good,” she says, and his lips twitch at the corners, rubs the pad of his thumb along her jaw. “I love…” she starts, her voice shaky, her breath getting caught as her heart skips a few beats. She swallows, her mind hazy, but the press of his warm, gentle, calloused fingers keeps her grounded in this moment. “I…”

“I know.” He kisses the corner of her mouth. “I do, too.”

She swallows, unable to fight the smile that tugs at her lips as her eyelashes flutter closed. She thinks she’s said the words a few hundred times by now in her head, but this is the closest she’s ever come to saying them out loud and right now?

Right now, this is more than enough.


	4. Bruce/Selina - date night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Anonymous asked: I would honestly live for batcat on a cute date night, or spending the morning together in a breakfast in bed/room service type of situation. (fluffy tropes)"

It isn’t the first time they’ve had to cancel date night, and no, it’s not always because of him, but _usually_ it is. She’s not that upset by it, though. She knows the man she married. Most nights it only takes a little bit of flirting, a few little licks and nips to that spot below his ear that drives him _wild_ , and he’ll let her drag him from his desk and into bed, or dinner, or whatever the hell else he’s been putting off in favor of brooding. Some nights she needs to be a little more aggressive, with far more touching and far less clothes.

And some nights she knows that he needs to be left to his work. He rarely ever gets into these moods - especially not since she’d moved in, and it makes her feel stupidly _happy_ whenever she thinks about this - but she knows that if she tries to drag him away, he’ll simply spend the night restless and preoccupied. She’ll be sure to bring him dinner and eat with him (because he sure as hell will just let his plate sit there if he’s not watched), pour him a glass of something bitter and strong, and give him a long, lingering kiss before she leaves to get ready for bed.

On these nights, she knows she never truly fall asleep until she feels him climb into bed beside her, tucking her into his chest and murmuring a sleepy _I love you_ into the back of her neck when he places a kiss there. She’s willing to bet that he knows that she’s awake, but he lets her play it off, presses his face into her hair as they fall asleep to the soft, steady sounds of their breathing.

Tonight, though, he seems to have something else in mind.

She hasn’t seen him since he’d woken her up before the crack of dawn to kiss her goodbye. She knows he had meetings lined up for most of the day, but she hadn’t anticipated that it would stretch into the afternoon, let alone keep him out until almost midnight. One of his gentle, calloused hands curves over her hip, giving it a squeeze as he whispers, “Selina,” right next to her ear.

She hums, shifting back, seeking his warmth, the firm, solid press of his muscles. “ _Mm_. Welcome home,” she murmurs.

She can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Thank you. Now get up.”

Her laugh is breathy and light, and she rolls onto her back, blinking her eyes open. Even in the dark, his smile is soft but bright.

“Selina,” he says with a laugh of his own, both hands on her hips now as he quite literally starts to tug her out of bed. She narrows her eyes at him in an attempt to glare, but there’s something almost adorably _light_ about his gaze that makes her pause, letting him coil his arms around her and lift her up.

“You know,” she drawls, arching an eyebrow as he carries her out of the room, “I was quite enjoying my nap.”

His lips twitch. “No, you weren’t,” he says, and she can’t even be bothered to pretend like he’s wrong. It’s _stupid_ , but she kind of really missed him today.

He walks them down the stairs, through the kitchen and into the dining room, and she feels her breath catch in her throat when she catches sight of the pillar candles lining the stretch of the table, the flames casting a low glow over the dozens of flowers scattered across the red oak. He’d set up a tier of chocolates on one end of the table, along with two champagne flutes and a bottle of something she knows is far more expensive than she could probably guess.

Her lips part, and she turns to look at him, feeling a warmth fan over her cheeks.

He smiles, and there’s something incredibly _open_ about it that makes him seem younger, almost _sheepish_ as he says, “Sorry I left you to yourself today.”

“Alfred kept me company.” She’d meant it to be teasing, but her voice is a little shaky. She doesn’t know why this small, simple gesture feels so overwhelming right now. Bruce isn’t always the most affectionate - not in traditional ways - but he’s done things like this for her before. He enjoys spoiling her, pampering her. But something about this feels like so much _more._

“I’m glad.” Taking a few steps forward, he sets her down in one of the chairs, then takes her hand in his and brings it to his lips as he settles into the chair beside hers. When he continues, every word is practically a kiss against her knuckles. “But I owed my wife a date night. So, here we are.”

“Didn’t realize how much of an old romantic you were, Bat,” she says, and he chuckles lightly as she stretches one leg, wrapping her ankle around his.

“Trust me, Cat. This is only the beginning.”


	5. Bucky/Wanda - university au + stolen library kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "sleepygrimm asked: Winterwitch Uni au, study partners, each others biggest crush, stolen library kisses, neck kisses."

“ _James_.”

Her voice comes out in this soft, breathy sort of whine that always, always makes him groan, and he presses his face into the curve of her neck, skims his lips over her thrumming pulse and places a wet, open-mouthed kiss. _Fuck_ , she always smells sweet, and if that isn’t distracting enough, her skin always feels silky and warm and pliant under his hands. She squirms and pushes meekly at his shoulders, not at all serious about trying to get him off, so he grasps her wrists in his hands and holds them firmly in place.

“Study break,” he mumbles into her skin, relishing in the way her throat vibrates with her laugh. He smirks, tips his head up to kiss the underside of her jaw.

“We took one five minutes ago.”

 _Hmm_. That had been true, and the crazy part? He’d actually attempted to focus. He’s got a paper due in two days that he should probably _actually_ try to get it done. In high school he’d never been all that studious. He didn’t dare let his grades get shitty - if his mom wasn’t on his ass homework, it was his sister and sometimes even Steve - but school wasn’t something he went out of his way to be good at. He just _was,_ as shitty as that sounds. He was a lot better at learning through lectures than by reading, so he barely cracked open any of his textbooks, and since he’s always been good at essays, he could usually put them off until a night or two before and still get at least a B.

He wasn’t the kind of person you’d find studying in a library; not because there was anything wrong with it, but simply because he didn’t _want_ to.

Yet here he was, on a Friday night, no less, sitting in the back corner of the university library and _studying_. Fuck, he can only imagine the things Steve and Sam will say when they find out. For all his talk about how libraries felt too quiet and stifling and entirely not his thing, he sure as hell spends a lot of time here.

And it’s all because of _her_.

She’s gorgeous - quite possibly the most gorgeous person he’d ever met - but he wouldn’t be joining her every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday night at the _library_ of all places just because of that. She’s fucking _cute_ , and sweet in a way that would seem innocent (and sometimes, yeah, she’s nothing _but_ innocent) if not for the devious little twinkle she gets when she tilts her head ever so slightly at him. She stares at him like she can see under his skin, can see right through to his mind and read every one of his thoughts, and it’s strangely addicting. He has never met anyone who wore her heart so openly on her sleeves, yet kept it under lock-and-key at the same time, and he quickly found himself being pulled in deeper to her charm with every bat of those ridiculously long eyelashes.

So, yeah. He’s here on a Friday night, working on his essay, just because it makes him feel closer to her. Because she’s the kind of person that takes notes on _everything_ in her swirling, perfect penmanship, and makes flash cards, and buys post-its in every color you could imagine because color-coding helps her study. She’s ridiculously good at school, but not because it comes easily to her like it does for him. She has to _try_ , and so she tries really damn hard, and he really admires that about her.

“If my brother finds your little bites on me later, he’s going to hunt you down,” she says, her voice half-playful, half-warning. He rolls his eyes but eases his lips off of her, licking at the spot he’d just bitten before pulling away altogether. 

Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes half-lidded as she gnaws on her plush, pink bottom lip, no doubt debating on whether or not she wants to pull him back.

“You’re being distracting,” she pouts, kicking his shin lightly under the table.

His hand falls on top of her thigh, finding the space of skin above the line of her knee-high socks and the hem of her sweater dress. “I’m just being me, babe.”

She giggles and shakes her head, tapping the top of his nose with her pink highlighter. “I know the movies make libraries seem sexy and secretive,” she starts, and, _fuck_ , she’s tilting her head at him, “but if we get caught, we’ll get in trouble. And don’t you dare tell me that the keyword in that sentence is _if_.”

He chuckles - it’s kind of awesome and a little terrifying how well she knows him - and squeezes her leg. Her eyelashes flutter, and he slides his hand up a little higher, tugs at her dress, and the flush on her cheeks grow brighter, if possible.

Then, with a smirk, he pulls his hands off of her entirely and turns his body away from hers and back to his laptop.

She _whines_ , and his smirk widens. “You’re such a tease,” she mutters.

He glances at her from the corner of his eyes, because he knows if he looks at her fully, he’s going to be drawn back into her, too far to try and stop himself.

“I’ve got an essay to finish, and you’ve got two more chapters to outline.” He nudges his foot against hers, getting this little thrill in his veins at the soft, sharp way she sucks in a breath. “But I’ll tell you this, doll: when we’re done, I’ll drag you to the corner and I promise I’ll put my hands wherever you want them.”

Her eyelashes flutter, giving him this little grin that’s sweet and soft and sexy all at once, and he swears he falls a little more in love.

“I’ll hold you to that.”


	6. Bruce/Selina - comforting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "floydianslip76 asked: Hey, for the fluffy drabble, could I please get BatCat, recovering from a dose of fear toxin? Thanks!"

“Selina.”

She hums, not quite looking up from the basket of laundry that she’d dragged into their room, to _fold_.

Gently, he grasps her wrist with one hand and pulls the pink, satin slip from her grasp with his other, laying it aside on the mattress so he can pull her to his chest. It’s instinctual the way she slides her arms around his neck, drags her nails over the small hairs at the back of his head. But she won’t quite look him in the eyes, her gaze fixed on a thin, silver scar that he knows is barely visible under the stubble along his jaw. He knows that she’s still a little shaken and just trying not to be, her body trembling ever so slightly as he drapes her arms around her and pulls her flush to his chest. She hadn’t changed out of her catsuit as soon as they got home; she’d breezed past Alfred and into the laundry room, telling him that she would put everything away if he wouldn’t mind starting on dinner.

Even if Bruce had been oblivious to how quiet Selina was during the entire drive home, _this_ surely would’ve tipped him off. It’s not as if his wife has become dependent on Alfred handling the housework, but Bruce knows she’d rather leave their laundry in a tidy pile on the chaise in the bedroom than put it away herself. Alfred had blinked when she offered this, his surprise quickly shifting into concern, and on any other day this might’ve been amusing. But today, it only made Bruce’s chest feel tighter, his stomach uneasy as he patted Alfred’s shoulder and mumbled for him to give them some space.

He’d watched Selina make her way through the first basket, wanting to give her space, let her wrestle out of her own head. It’s habit for them to want space, to pull into themselves until they felt comfortable enough to come back out, and it was something they’ve always just understood about each other. He should let her be, give Alfred a hand with dinner until she was ready to talk.

But, seeing her like this? Seeing her body tremble, seeing her chest rise with sharp, shallow, _shaky_ intakes of breath, clearly distraught - he simply _can’t_ walk away. He can’t leave this bedroom and pretend to carry on as normal, knowing that she would be in here, still haunted by the hallucinations of her fear toxin.

He’d sell whatever the hell was left of his soul if it meant that she would _never_ feel like this again.

“ _Bruce_ ,” she breathes, her voice both a demand and a plea. She doesn’t want to talk about it, and he knows if he prods, she’ll pull away.

He just shushes her gently, grasps her chin in his fingers and tips her head up toward him. Her eyes are a little wide, a little wild, and he somehow he feels a sharp curl of protectiveness and helplessness all at once, meeting her gaze. He brushes his mouth over hers in a light, barely there kiss, and she lets out this little sound from the back of her throat, kissing him harder. Her hands slide up his neck to cup either side of his face, stroking her thumbs over his cheeks.

Then she eases her lips off of his, her body relaxing ever so slightly, as if in relief.

“That was the first time the fear toxin wasn’t about me,” she whispers, blinking her gaze up to his. Her eyelashes are dotted with tears, and maybe before, she would’ve been too stubborn to let them show. He likes that here, in their room, in his _arms_ , she’s not trying to fight them. She was terrified and she wants him to know what. She wants him to know _why_. She holds onto him a little tighter. “You know I can’t lose you, Bat.”

He knows he should tell her that that’s wrong. That she was fine on her own before him, and she would be find on her own _after_ him, if that ever came to be. She’s the strongest person he knows, and she would be just _fine_.

But honestly? He knows it’s much more than that. _They’re_ much more now.

It’s not just him, not just her. She’s changed his life in every way possible, for better  - so much _better_ \- and by some miracle, he’s changed hers, too. And though he knows, physically, she would be fine if he passed. She would carry herself through the motions, find a different purpose, find a new meaning to her life. She wouldn’t be a shell of herself;  she’s far too vibrant, far too fierce to ever lose that spark about her.

But she would be _different_ without him, and that terrifies her.

So he slides his hands to her hips, gripping her tightly, almost tight enough to bruise, he knows, but she doesn’t mind one bit. “You won’t,” he promises. He’s never been careless about his life, exactly, but he knows that he never quite feared death the way you think he should. Some small part of him had come to terms with the fact that he could die at any moment, especially when he chose to put on that cape, and maybe that had closed him off to the _living_ aspect of his life a while ago. But he hadn’t entirely realizes that until Selina came along.

Until she gave him something to _enjoy_ about his life. Something that made him want to live for himself, for _her_.

“Because if you’re gone, who will give me warm, sudsy massages in the bath?” she asks, and, _fuck_ , there’s that smile of hers that he loves so much. The sight of it eases the tightness in his chest, and he holds her tighter, _closer_.

“Why else would you keep me around?”


	7. Bucky/Wanda - first date au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "steph21108 asked: For your Fluffy Trope thing, I would love to read some Bucky/Wanda but from your Officer/Waitress AU. I was thinking their first date with Bucky being so nervous and Wanda sensing this so she makes the first move to kiss him which catches Bucky completely by surprise. You can take this idea and spin it whichever way works for you. Thank you!!"
> 
> Part of the [civilian 'verse](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/tagged/civilian%20'verse).

It takes two weeks after he asks her out before they can actually get to their first date. His schedule has been ridiculous since he’s had to pull doubles all month, and between her essays and studying for finals and still working every morning, she hasn’t had much time to _breathe_. He doesn’t seem offended when she has to cancel on him twice; just turns a sweet and charmingly disappointed smile her way as he jokes that she’s trying to avoid him, but he’s not genuinely trying to give her a hard time about it and she doesn’t see it that way.

And it’s not as if they only see each other when he comes in for coffee during his breaks. They text all the time, and he calls her every night, right after she’s tucked herself into bed, as if he wants to be the very last voice she hears right before she falls asleep. He always sounds so low and soft and gravelly over the line, and it makes her feel giddy and warm to think of him sitting on his bed, too, maybe in just a pair of sweats, smiling to an empty room as he talks to her. He can always tell right when she’s about to pass out, too, because he’ll let out this breathy little laugh at the slur of her words and commands her sweetly but firmly to go to bed, so he could see her in the morning.

It’s during one of these calls when they finally set a date, her mind warm and a little bit fuzzy from the sleep she’s been fighting off. He’d groaned lowly over the line when she told him that she’d just been in the bath earlier, and that she’d treated herself to a glass of wine and a few dark chocolates that her brother’s girlfriend had bought her for Valentine’s Day last week. She’s never felt _sexy_ \- not particularly, anyway - but hearing that sound come from low in his throat, in a pure, unfiltered reaction to him imagining her wet and sudsy and tipsy?

She had never felt quite as _empowered_ as she had in that moment.

“Speaking of baths,” he’d said with this little laugh, like he wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or amused by himself and what he was about to ask. “I’m sure it’s not all that exciting as far as dates go, but, I _am_ off this Saturday and my bud’s dragging me to this charity dog wash. I could sign you up, maybe?”

She had been a little bit impressed with how well she’d fought the squeal out of her voice. “I’d love to.”

“It’s a date,” he’d said, and she bit on her lower lip to keep from smiling wider.

And honestly? It’s kind of her favorite first date, _ever_.

She lives just down the block from the park where the community center is hosting the dog wash, but James still insists on meeting her at her front door, and with Pietro gone for the weekend, she doesn’t even hesitate to text James the address. She loves her brother with all her heart, and while she’s certain the fact that James is a _police officer_ will make a good impression if and when they end up meeting, she knows Pietro would’ve still given him a hard time as he’s done with the few other boys she’s dated.

He’s got that bright, beautiful, boyish smile of his on his lips again, though she can tell that something is… _off_. His hand is trembling ever so slightly when he puts it on her shoulder, introducing her to a few of the officers from his precinct. She’s seen them around the diner before, in passing, and she’s shared a few conversations with James Rhodes and Scott Lang before, which makes her feel a little bit better about meeting so many of James’s friends all at once.

He winces as he leads her away, too, scratching at the back of his neck as he admits, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to just - throw you to the wolves like that.”

She giggles, shakes her head. “They all called me _cute_ and said I was far too precious for you. I hardly felt like I was being judged.”

His lips twitch at the corners, though the odd look in his eyes doesn’t entirely disappear. She tries not to let that bother her. “I know, but still,” he says, and then seems to stop himself, leaving it at that. She tilts her head, studying his profile as he walks up to the table to sign them in, and she wonders if she’s simply imagining the way James seems to focus his attention on the elderly gentleman showing them to their station, as if he wants an excuse to avoid _her_.

Someone from the local animal shelter walks over to them with a Labrador puppy that looks no bigger than one of her stuffed animals, and she swears part of her _melts_. He’s adorable with big, brown eyes, and his tail is wagging happily as he’s set down in the little tub and splashes in the water. The shelter employee starts to apologize when the little guy manages to soak the bottom corner of her shirt, but Wanda just laughs it off, says that it’s fine, and so he smiles and says that he’ll be back in a bit.

“Hey, fella,” she coos, squirting a dollop of shampoo in her palms, and he licks at her wrist when she starts to lather it into his fur. She giggles, glancing up at James, but he’s diverted his gaze from her, seemingly fixated on something halfway across the park. She feels herself frown. “James?” she asks, and he glances at her from the corner of his eye. Her hands pause, and the little guy shakes his body out, splashing more water and now a few suds onto her arms.

“Shit,” James mutters, grabbing a towel, but, on pure impulse, she grasps his shirt with her wet, soapy hand and tugs him across the tub, pressing her lips to his. He stiffens, and for a fleeting moment, she feels nothing short of _mortified_.

But then he groans softly, his hand tucking into her hair, and when he lips part in surprise at his touch, he slips his tongue against hers. She _mewls_.

Then the puppy between them barks, startling the both of them to spring apart. But this time, when James looks away from her, she feels her lips tingling, her heart fluttering in her chest at his breathy, almost _relieved_ sort of laugh. “Sorry buddy,” he says, squirting shampoo into his hand, too, so he can help her with washing him. Then he meets her gaze again, his eyes twinkling in something sweet and sort of mischievous at the same time. “I owe you an apology, too.”

“First date jitters?” she asks, and she tries, and _fails,_ to not sound so giddy by this. By the fact that she has this kind of effect on him.

“No. Just _you-_ jitters,” he admits. It sounds so much like it could be a line, and she shouldn’t be so charmed by it at all, but she _is_ , and somehow she knows that he’s being genuine. “You’ve got me under some kind of damn spell.”

She giggles, the puppy happily peering up at them as she leans over and kisses James on the lips. “ _Good._ ”


	8. Peter/Shuri - morning fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "yuhwheeler asked: could you maybe do peter x shuri morning time fluff? like maybe peter is chasing shuri around the house and tackle her on the bed and smother her in kisses"

He’s not exactly a morning person, but she _is_ , and he thinks it’s not so bad being dragged out of bed before it’s barely dawn outside if it means he gets to sneak in a few more hours of her all to himself. They’ll usually make breakfast together, and then they’ll sit at the kitchen table and eat while they talk about their plans for the day, and it’s almost _always_ just him listening to her chatter excitedly about her schedule, but he hardly minds. She’s a foreign ambassador that gets to teach kids about her innovations, to change their lives, and that’s infinitely more exciting than him talking about lectures and essays and everything else that comes with being a college freshman.

And yeah, he’s going through school because Mr. Stark and Aunt May insisted that he’d enjoy it, and honestly? He kind of does. He’s got his “internship” still going on, but ever since the near-end of the world, things have quieted down a lot. He doesn’t need to suit up so much, so he’s actually got time to hang out with Ned, or just tinker in one of the labs at the Avengers’ Facility. Sometimes Tony takes him to technology summits, and sometimes he works out with Steve and Nat in the gym, or just does whatever everyone else is doing because they actually have the time to do whatever the hell they want now, and it’s _great_.

It also means that he gets to spend more time with Shuri, who is almost always in the States nowadays, since she’s overseeing Wakanda’s outreach programs. He lives in his own apartment near campus - because that was his one and only condition when Mr. Stark insisted that he keep going through school, even though he argued that Peter would miss out on “dorm life.” And yeah, maybe he might have thought that, except he likes _this_ so much more; likes that Shuri can come and go as she pleases, not having to worry about if his roommate will be home or having to deal with the extra attention that the dorms would’ve given her. She’s basically a celebrity, and as much as she’s grateful for how much the public seems to adore her, he knows she doesn’t want to _have_ to talk about politics and programs every time she wants to visit him.

She got in super late last night - he thinks it was probably two in the morning when she crawled into bed with him, tucking herself into his side - and so it’s the first time _ever_ that he’s more awake before her. She’s kind of just sitting on the kitchen counter while he makes them pancakes, sleepily nibbling on a strip of bacon. She’s wearing one of his university shirts, her hair messily twisted up in a bun atop her head, and she looks so adorably rumpled that he can’t quite resist reaching over and pinching her side through her shirt, making her _squeal_.

“Peter!”

He grins, leaning away when she playfully smacks his shoulder, and then his hand is darting out again, tickling her side. She coils away, dropping her bacon in the process, and he outright _laughs_ when she aims a glare at him, her lips twitching in the smile he knows she’s barely holding back.

“You’re still half-asleep, princess,” he teases, switching off the burner, and she’s barely just slipped off of the counter and onto her feet when he grasps her by her hips and pulls her close, tickling his fingers up her sides. She lets out another squeal, dissolving into giggles as he continues to wrestle her into his tickles. “I’m practically making this breakfast all by myself!”

She slips out of his arms and quickly backs away, her eyes wide and twinkling in delight. “You made me waste food, Parker!”

He laughs, slinking toward her again, but she’s quick, slipping past him and bounding down the hallway. He runs after her, following her into the bedroom and catching her by her waist, tossing her onto the bed. She’s breathless and giggling as he climbs over her, but she’s quick, too, tickling _her_ fingers up his side before he can do the same to her. He yelps, batting her hands away, and when she peers up at him with that proud, triumphant smile of hers, all he can really do is slant his mouths over hers in a kiss.

She hums, playfully attempting to tug her wrists free, but he holds them to his chest and kisses her a little harder, his muffled laugh dissolving into a strained noise from the back of his throat when she nips at his bottom lip.

“If I didn’t know any better,” she teases once she’s eased her lips back, “I’d say you quite enjoy trouble.”

He grins, loosening his grip on her wrists, but she doesn’t even attempt to pull them back. “Well, you’re _definitely_ trouble, and I quite enjoy you.”

She smiles that sweet, teasing smile that he loves so much, and his heart trips in his chest. He wonders if she can feel it when she presses her palms against his chest, her eyes sparkling as she says, “That’s why you’re my favorite.”


	9. Bucky/Maria - wife and son falling asleep in his arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Anonymous asked: Buckyhill “wife and kid fell asleep and my arms cramping but like hell I’m moving because damn they’re wonderful” a son would be great but feel free to add more kids if you want lol"

He wonders, somehow, if Jacob knows whenever his dad has been away on a mission.

He’s only ever gone two, three days tops, and yeah, that had been a request of his after Maria had given birth, but he doubts that Nick or Steve would’ve sent him too far from home even he hadn’t said anything. Maria wouldn’t have asked on his behalf, either, but he knows that she likes that he did. She’s not as antsy about being home all the time as he’d anticipated, especially considering she’d refused to stay away from the Facility until _a week_ before her due date, but still. Jacob is tiny and barely three months old, but he’s still a _handful_ , and despite the fact that Maria can handle just about anything on her own, he still wants to be around to help. Even if that just means rolling out of bed with her in the middle of the night when he’s fussy and wants to be fed.

That’s why he finds himself sitting in the rocking chair of dim nursery, the low glow of the nightlight illuminating the soft, sleepy smile on Maria’s face as he gently rocks them back and forth. He’d followed her out of bed, and he knows that she’s missed him, because hadn’t even protested when he climbed out after her. He had been in London overnight, and he knows from Maria’s texts that Jacob had been particularly fussy the entire time his dad had been gone. It squeezed at Bucky’s chest, of course - _fuck_ , he hates the thought of his little guy being upset at all, especially if it’s because of _him_ \- but it also made him feel strangely warm and tingly.

He’s a _dad_. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the little rush he gets whenever that thought crosses his mind.

He’d settled into the rocking chair as Maria picked up Jacob from his crib, his whines softening into more of a whimper, and he’d smiled widely like an idiot when she settled into his lap with Jacob cradled in her arms, and the little guy’s crying stopped altogether. Like somehow he knew they were all together again.

Jacob had latched onto Maria without a fuss, which is something he’s been doing for a while now, and Maria had hummed in content as she leaned her head back against Bucky’s shoulder, curling a little closer into his warmth. Jacob had fallen asleep quickly, and so had Maria, and Bucky felt pretty damn comfortable just getting to hold the both of them that he hadn’t bothered to wake Maria up.

Not even now, after he’s all but lost the feeling in his flesh arm. He’ll definitely be stiff in the morning, but he doesn’t care. Not at all.

“Shit,” Maria murmurs, stirring ever so slightly as she blinks her eyes open, and he swear he falls a little more in love when she gazes at him with a sleepy smile. She leans in, kissing the corner of his mouth, and Jacob kicks his foot between them, still fast asleep. “I owe you a good massage in the morning.”

“Nah, you don’t,” he says, even though that sounds fucking _amazing_ , and she gives him that coy little grin of hers, no doubt reading his expression.

She gently shifts Jacob in her arms as Bucky helps her stand, and then he’s rolling out his shoulder as he watches her lower Jacob back into his crib and tug her shirt back into place. Jacob stirs, but Bucky reaches for him, smoothing his hand over his stomach through his onesie, and it’ll always be really fucking precious, how much smaller the little guy looks against his hand.

Jacob lets out this little sigh, his tiny fist grabbing the blanket as Bucky tucks it up around him.

“He missed you,” Maria whispers, winding her arms around his torso and leaning into his chest, and he grins, dips down to kiss her lips as he wraps his metal arm around her. Her eyelashes flutter slightly, and he knows that she’s relishing in its cool, familiar touch. “I think I missed you more, though.”

“You only _think?_ ” he teases, and she stretches on her toes, kissing him again and humming against his lips.

“When this next one comes, I’m insisting you go on maternity leave with me.”

He swears his heart _stops_ , and he knows she feels him stiffen against her because her lips curve into a smirk as she pulls away, her smile gentle and coy as she blinks up at him, waiting. “Next one?” he repeats, because that’s all he could really wrap his mind around, and he seems entirely too aware of the flat of her stomach pressing against his. “ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, and he knows that he’s already smiling like an idiot. “Really?”

She nods as his hand slides under the hem of her tank top, his palm pressing over her stomach. “I found right before you got home, actually.”

“That was _hours_ ago,” he playfully growls, ducking his head to nip at her earlobe like he knows drives her _crazy_. “You were going to keep it from me?”

She lets out a breathy laugh. “You were practically passed out on the couch.”

“ _Don’t care_ ,” he mumbles, skimming his lips down the curve of her neck, stroking his thumb gently over her stomach. She winds her fingers into his hair and twists as his lips dip lower, and lower, pressing a gentle kiss right above her pounding heart. “I love you so much,” he groans, his chest tight, blood pulsing.

“I love you, too,” she says, and he glances up to find her grinning. “Even though I’m pretty sure you were talking to my boobs.”


	10. Steve/Natasha - sharing a bed + jealousy + neck kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "natashaashleyhopemikaelson asked: Hellooo can I request romanogers and sharing a bed please? X"
> 
> "autonomicrogue asked: Hi hi! For the mini trope, could I get like a jealousy one? Like Steve getting jealous about someone he thinks is flirting with Nat? Maybe a best friends to lovers type thing.. but really I’m down for anything!"
> 
> "Anonymous asked: Can you do romanogers fluff with jealousy and sharing a bed!! I LOVE your writing!!!:))"
> 
> "Anonymous asked: romanogers neck kisses and jealousy plz! your writing is great!"
> 
> "Anonymous asked: Can you do romanogers with jealousy and having to share a room!! Looooove your writing!!!"
> 
> Part of the [one night stand 'verse](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/tagged/one-night-stand-'verse).

He’s been quiet ever since they got back to the motel, and she feels strangely _unsettled_ because of it.

She’s never one to chatter while away on a mission, because she’s usually focused on the upcoming operation beforehand, or trying to unwind from the adrenaline of the mission afterward. But of course, with Steve, she’d found herself quickly abandoning that habit. It wasn’t as though he was a _babbler_ \- god, she’d probably go a little bit crazy every time they were assigned together if that was the case - but he likes to talk sometimes, and she’s found that she quite likes it when he does. Sometimes they talk about the mission itself, but most times, they don’t talk about anything of importance. They’ll tease each other as they unpack, maybe share whatever mild form of gossip had been floating around SHIELD as they were leaving, but then he’ll ask her something personal and she’ll surprise herself by giving a genuine answer.

He’ll ask about anything - from something as simple as what her favorite color is, to something far more intimate and maybe a little dangerous, like about her past, her parents, her training. She knows he can see her hesitance whenever they broach these topics, but he doesn’t waver, doesn’t take it back, and for some reason it only makes her _want_ to tell him.

At first she thought that this pull she felt from him had been purely sexual. Because he was this sweet, anonymous gentleman who laughed at her terrible jokes in a bar, and then touched her like he knew exactly how to get under her skin after admitted he’d never gone all the way with a woman before. And then when he showed up in Nick’s office the next day as her new partner, as _Captain America_ , she thought that maybe the thrill of this new, little secret of theirs was what made her feel so giddy whenever he glanced her way during drills and mission briefs, whenever he gave her that little smirk when she landed him flat on his ass on the training mats.

But she knows this isn’t the case. She knows that it must be _more_ , otherwise she wouldn’t feel so genuinely _upset_ by his sudden quiet.

He’d stood next to her in the bathroom as they washed up, barely glanced in her direction when she changed right in front of him. He’s seen her _naked_ and still does, because they decided, fairly quickly into her first week of being his sort of supervising officer, that they simply couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. He’s never once felt the need to look away from her, never once tried to avoid her, and she can’t help the weird sort of worry that settles in her stomach.

She’s already tucked her legs under the covers when Steve steps out of the bathroom, his hair freshly damp from his shower, his sweats dangerously _low_ on his hips and his chest bare because she’s stolen his shirt to sleep in. She had done it in a blatant attempt at getting a reaction, and for a fleeting moment she thinks maybe she might as his gaze falls onto her, taking in the way it’s falling off of one shoulder, the way it barely covers the tops of her thighs.

But then his jaw sets and he closes his eyes as he glances away. They’re sharing a bed because that’s what had been available in this motel at the last second, but he when switches off the light, lowering himself onto the mattress over the covers, he still feels annoyingly _distant_.

Except she’s stubborn, and a little bit pissed off, and he’ll be damned if he thinks he’s going to get away with this.

She reaches for him through the dark, feels him tense for a moment when her fingers find his warm, smooth skin, and then he eases into her touch as she curls her fingers behind his neck. She lifts herself up, swings one leg over his hips to straddle him, and his hands automatically settle at her hips as she leans over and presses a kiss to the column of his throat. His groan is low and deep and rumbling, and she feels his tension ease even more, his hands kneading at her skin. _Fuck_ , she shouldn’t feel so relieved by this simple touch, but she is.

She licks at the pulse in his neck, sucks another wet kiss there, and he slides a hand up her back and into her hair, cradling her head.

“Why are you mad at me?” she asks against his skin, kissing up to the line of his jaw as his fingers gently massage at her scalp. He lets out a sharp exhale, sounding annoyed, but when she lifts her head to meet his gaze, somehow she can tell that his frustration isn’t directed _at_ her. “Steve?” she asks, stroking her thumb over his skin.

“It’s not because of you,” he says quietly, holding her gaze through the dark. “But I’m sorry I kind of took it out on you, anyway.”

She slides her hands up his neck, cradling his face in her hands. He turns his head to press a kiss against her palm, and it makes her smile, makes her heart flutter. “I’m going to take a wild guess,” she says, tilting her head, “and say it has something to do with having to watch me flirt my way through the casino.”

He swallows, _hard_ , closing his eyes for a moment as he exhales again, blinking up at her. His expression is a little more vulnerable now, sweet and tender.

“Like I said, it’s not your fault.” He squeezes her hips as if to emphasize this. “Just something I have to work through.”

Fuck. _Fuck_. She feels a warmth unfurl in her stomach, her heart tripping in her chest as she lowers herself over him again, her chest pressing flat against his as she kisses him, softer and slower and sweeter. She licks at the seam of his lips, licking into his mouth when he parts it for her, and he moans as he wraps an arm around her shoulders as if to press her as close as physically possible.

“Maybe I can comfort you?” she says against his lips. He laughs softly, rolls her onto her back and presses her between the mattress and his warm, solid chest as hooks her hand over the back of his neck again, pulling him back to her lips.

There’s something almost possessive about the way he touches her, and she knows for damn sure that she’s in trouble, because she _loves_ it.


	11. Steve/Natasha - "I have a lot of blood on my hands."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "natasharomanovs asked: Prompt: "I have a lot of blood on my hands, Steve". He brings each of her palms to his lips, and says, "You have love on them too." aksjhd you can tweak/use that in any way you wish to."

“You know,” Natasha drawls, leaning one shoulder against the doorway into the living room as Steve glances up at the sound of her voice. Nikki is perched on his lap, happily eating her baby puffs out of the palm of his hand, and, _fuck_ , it’s stupidly cute how tiny she always looks whenever she’s with Steve. She nods at the snack in his hand as she says, “This is what Pepper means when she says you spoil her rotten.”

He gives her a boyish, dimpled smile, not at all apologetic. “She was hungry.”

She walks over to them, perching herself on the arm of the couch, and Nikki peers up from her baby puffs and _beams_ when she sees Natasha. “Is that true Nikki?” Natasha asks, reaching over to tap the top of her nose, and she giggles as she pushes another puff into her mouth. “Or did Uncle Steve not like your baby food and decide that you needed something else to eat?”

“It was pureed turkey and vegetables,” Steve says - almost _pouts_ \- as if this is reason enough to give the girl a snack barely an hour after they’ve fed her.

Natasha rubs her lips together, barely holding back a smile as she shakes her head. Fuck, this man is adorable, and she knows Tony and Pepper will hardly mind. Nikki has gotten a lot pickier with her food lately, and Tony is worried that she’s not eating enough, even though her pediatrician says that she’s _fine_ , and she’s totally happy and healthy and progressing normally. But still. She didn’t even get through half of the pureed apple and oatmeal cereal that they fed her for lunch, so having one extra snack today won’t hurt.

“Come here,” Steve says, even though she’s barely a foot away, and she breathes out a laugh as he reaches for her with his free hand, curving it over her hip and gently tugging her closer. She slides onto the cushion, hooks her ankle around his as she lets him tuck her under his arm. He presses a kiss to her hair, asks, “Where have you been?” against her temple.

“Picking up after you, as always.” Her exasperation is playful and he grins because he knows it. “You and Nikki leave quite a mess wherever you go.”

He laughs, and Nikki giggles in his lap because of it, blinking those ridiculously long eyelashes as she peers up at them. There had been toys and stuffed animals scattered across the den when they were playing with her earlier, and a little bit of water had splashed out from her tub when they’d given her a bath. A few of her pajamas had been left on the rocking chair of her nursery, too, when Steve couldn’t decide what to change her into, and of course the little girl had managed to get some baby food on the tray of her high chair when they fed her dinner.

It was hardly anything to blink at, and she knows Steve hadn’t assumed that she would be the one to do all the cleaning, but she doesn’t mind. Steve loves to cuddle with the girl (no surprise there) and will quite literally _pout_ whenever Natasha tries to steal Nikki away from him, but also, he’s so ridiculously good with her. She remembers him telling her that this was hardly the case - that he’s almost always felt awkward and out of his element around kids, especially when they’re this little - but even if this was true, she never would’ve guessed just by watching him with Nikki. He’s so, _so_ good with her, and he always seems to know how to calm her when she starts getting fussy, how to figure out what she wants when she’s crying.

Natasha has never felt as though she was _terrible_ with kids, even before she’d met Cooper and Lila and started seeing them regularly. She’s just never felt particularly intuitive with them, either, especially at this young. Cooper and Lila were small when would spend time with them, but they weren’t infants, and she knows being able to care for a child for a few hours is hardly the same as being their _parent_. She’s not quite sure if she trusts herself to shape every part of their life when she’s only now beginning to change hers. It’s something she’s thought about before, whenever she had felt particularly self-deprecating.

But now? Now, she’s not entirely sure.

Now she feels a warmth tug at her chest whenever it crosses her mind.

Now she gets this tingling sort of thrill when she imagines what it must be like for Pepper to see Nikki’s face light up as soon as she sees her, babbling in excitement and reaching her tiny little arms to be closer to her. She imagines how proud Pepper must have felt the first time Nikki rolled onto her stomach, or reached for a toy on her own, or held her bottle by herself. She imagines how _content_ Pepper must feel when she catches Nikki asleep on Tony’s chest as he’s lounging on the couch, or when she hears their laughter trailing in from another room.

And she _wants_ that. For herself, for Steve.

For _them_.

“Nat,” Steve says, his voice soft, drawing her from her thoughts as she traces her knuckle lightly down one of Nikki’s full, pink cheeks. “You got really quiet.”

She hums, using Nikki’s bib to wipe off a little bit of drool from the corner of her mouth. “You’re really good with her,” she says, because of the dozens of things on the tip of her tongue right now, that had been the only thing to come out.

“So are you,” he says, his tone genuine and entirely _sure_.

She keeps her gaze on Nikki, tickling her fingers lightly against her tummy as she says, “I’m not sure. I have a lot of blood on my hands, don’t I, Nikki?”

“ _Nat_.” He pulls his arm from around her to gently grasp her wrist, careful not to jostle Nikki as he draws her hand to his lips. Natasha tips her head back, feels her heart flutter ever so slightly. “You have a lot of love on them, too,” he says right against her palm, pressing a kiss there, and then skimming up a little more to kiss the engagement ring on her finger. “You’re really good with her,” he says again, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze is warm and maybe a little bit intense, but in the _best way_.

He knows what they’re really talking about right now, and his eyes are bright with adoration. With _hope_.

“You think we’re ready?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. But she knows it’s not out of uncertainty, or anxiousness. It’s out of _excitement._

He exhales a shaky, _elated_ sort of breath, right before he presses his lips to hers in a kiss, and honestly? That’s the best answer he could’ve given her.


	12. Steve/Natasha - single parent au + finding out they're pregnant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Anonymous asked: For the fluff in the neighbors au Nat and Steve finding out their pregnant then telling Sarah!"
> 
> "Anonymous asked: Romanogers + single parent au"
> 
> Part of the [suburb 'verse](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/tagged/suburb-%27verse).

“Are you nervous?”

She glances up from her laptop to glare at him, and Steve just laughs, wraps his hands around her ankles perched in his lap and gives them a squeeze.

She sat herself on the couch and turned on her laptop about an hour ago, intent on trying to find a few articles or videos or _something_ to prepare herself with their approaching conversation, but she’d barely gotten through the first paragraph of the first blog entry she’d clicked on before her thoughts started to wander. She found herself focusing on the quiet sounds of Dodger trotting around the house, the sounds of Steve washing the dishes they’d used for lunch, throwing a load of laundry into the wash, rearranging things in the garage. It’s rare that he gets a weekday off like this, and she knows it makes sense that he’d use this rare time without Sarah occupying his full attention to get some housework done.

Still. She bit on her lower lip, staring at the screen but not quite seeing the words as she wished, in some small part of her mind, that he’d come and sit down with her instead. She wasn’t even sure _why_. She hadn’t felt particularly unsettled about any of this, and if not for Laura insisting that she take a few days off from the hospital to take it easy, she would’ve been happily distracted with work. Here, however, there was nothing else for her to focus on.

(She knew that was exactly Laura’s intention, and she’s not sure whether she’s exasperated by the woman knowing her so well, or grateful. Probably both.)

But, as if he’d somehow heard her thoughts, Steve had walked into the living room with that bright, dimpled smile of his, pulling her feet into his lap and as he settled onto the other end of the couch and switched on the TV. He hadn’t even _said_ anything, but just being here with him, having him so close, his large, warm hands gently stroking her skin, had been all the comfort she’d needed.

Just as she needs his teasing. She needs to hear that light, playful tone to his voice, reminding her to take a breath, to not think about it so much.

“Nat.” He squeezes her ankles again. “Come here.”

She bites on the inside of her lip, grinning. “I’m only two feet away from you.”

He gives her a playfully exasperated sigh, and he reaches over, gently prying her laptop from her hands and setting it aside on the coffee table. She expects him to pull her to his chest, to tuck her into his arms, but instead he gets that sexy, teasing smirk that she loves a little too much, gently nudging her to lay back against the couch as he moves his body over hers. He props himself up on an elbow, slotting himself between her legs, and it’s _instinctual_ , the way she hooks herself around his hips, the way she winds her arms around his neck. There’s a mild sort of thrill being under him like this on the couch, in the middle of the day, knowing Wanda would be by in a matter of minutes to drop off Sarah.

“Hi.”

She can’t help but laugh. “Hi.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over how you feel like this,” he says, sliding a hand down her ribs to curve over her hip. “How you look under me.”

She knows she should tease him, pretend to be exasperated, or whisper something dirty into his ear, but all she does is nod, feeling a warmth flutter in her stomach. They had been exactly like this, in the middle of the night, when they’d realized that she might be pregnant. She’d felt off all week, and it had worried him enough that he waited up for her to come home from work, despite it being past midnight on a Sunday. He’d pulled her under him, kissed her neck as he asked how her shift was, if she was feeling better, if he needed to get her anything. He’d been only slightly overbearing in his worry, and, after reciting her every symptom over the last couple of weeks in their attempt to riddle it out together, it finally clicked into place for the both of them.

He’d kissed her breathless on the floor of the bathroom when they’d taken the first test, and the next two were only a formality. She’d _known_ it was true.

And now, a week later, they’re ready to tell Sarah.

Well, _mostly_ ready. Natasha knows that the girl will be excited, knows without a doubt that she’ll be such a _good_ big sister, but still. Part of her is still nervous.

Why is she so nervous?

“Hey,” Steve whispers, dipping his head down to kiss her once, twice, three times, each longer and slower and deeper. It’s _so damn easy_ to lose herself in him, and it’s hard to remember what it was like before she had his calm, steady voice in his head, his gentle, soothing touches to keep her grounded.

She hears a car slow to a stop just down the driveway, hears Sarah’s voice - bright and happy - fill the air as a door is opened, chattering away with Wanda. Natasha expects the worry to come back, but Steve is smiling at her, squeezing her hip as he draws them both up, and all she can do is laugh as she sort of scrambles to slide off of his lap so she’s not, you know, _straddling_ him when Wanda gets the door open with her key.

Sarah’s smiling face brightens even more when she sees them. “You’re home!” she exclaims, shrugging her backpack onto the floor just before she launches herself at them, trying to get her arms around the both of them for a hug. Then she leans away, plopping herself onto Natasha’s lap as she pokes Steve’s chest with her finger, laughing. “Does Uncle Tony know that you skipped work?”

He hums as he shrugs his shoulder, being playfully vague, and it’s kind of crazy how much the girl reminds Natasha of herself when Sarah tilts her head at her dad, her lips pressed together in a smile. Steve points it out a lot - how much of her is starting to rub off on Sarah, and how he _loves_ it - but it still sort of takes Natasha by surprise in the best way possible.

Then she turns to Natasha, her smile softening into something sweeter, gentler. “Are you feeling better today, Nat?” she asks, glancing down at her stomach, as if she would be able to tell just by looking at it if Natasha is feeling nauseous.

“ _Lots_ ,” Natasha says, smoothing a hair down the French braid she’d done for Sarah this morning. She glances over her head, catching Wanda’s gaze on them, her smile wide and her eyes sparkling. They hadn’t said anything yet to anyone other than Laura, but somehow, she wouldn’t be surprised if the girl pieced it together on her own. “Actually,” she says, turning back to Sarah, “that’s exactly what we wanted to talk to you about.”

Sarah furrows her eyebrows a little. “ _Okay_ ,” she says, her voice dubious as she draws out the word.

(Oh, Natasha’s definitely rubbed off on her.)

“Princess,” Steve says, taking one of her hands in his, and whatever nerves Natasha had felt before is nothing but light, giddy warmth as Steve continues with, “how would you feel about being a big sister?”


	13. Bruce/Selina - wedding reception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Anonymous asked: Hi! For batcat could you do one where it takes place at the their wedding reception, which seems like a goldmine for cute moments."

“You look like you could use a drink.”

She feels her lips tug at the corners, arching an eyebrow as she stares back at his bright, twinkling blue eyes. “Careful now,” she says, and his smile widens, if possible. “To another woman, a phrase like that may sound more like an insult.”

He laughs, offering her his elbow. “Sorry, _Mom_ ,” he says, looking totally amused when she narrows her eyes. “How about a dance instead?”

“You’re pushing your luck,” she warns, though there isn’t an ounce of sincerity in her tone as she accepts the arm he offers, and Dick grins at her because he knows it. He’d always, ever since they first met, had this brightness in his eyes that felt like something strangely, oddly _hopeful_. Whether that was simply how he was (which, she’d quickly learned, had certainly been part of it) or if it was because he was hopeful for something in particular - hopeful for _her_ \- had been a puzzle she spent far more time thinking about than she’d like to admit.

Though she suspects the wide, practically smug smile he’s worn all day is all the answer she needs.

There are a few excited murmurs when he pulls her onto the dance floor, and, because he’s _Dick_ and she really shouldn’t expect differently, he guides her into a twirl before drawing her to his chest. She doesn’t quite remember when he’d gotten so tall, when he’d filled out so much, but it’s hard to ignore it now.

She refuses to feel sentimental about it. _Refuses_.

He twirls her again, laughing loudly and brightly in that way of his that is by no means obnoxious, but that draws attention, anyway, simply because of how _happy_ he sounds. She shakes her head, not trying to hide her smile, and, over his shoulder, she catches Bruce’s gaze at the head table. He had been talking with Clark for the better part of the last hour when she’d dragged Lois and Dinah with her to the dessert table, having them dip strawberries in the fondue and carefully feed it to her over a plate as to not stain her dress.

But now both men have quieted in favor watching her and Dick on the dance floor. Clark is grinning widely, sweetly amused, and though you’d think this would make Bruce’s softer, barely there smile seem small in comparison, that’s hardly the case. His eyes are _burning_ , his stare a palpable caress over her face as it takes in the flush on her cheeks, lingers on the color of her lipsticks. Then his gaze lowers slowly, tracing down the neckline of her dress, sweeping over the intricate, swirling patterns of the black lace hugging her curves.

It’s something so small, something she doubts anyone else in the room would ever see, but right now it makes her feel deliciously _bare_. She can’t help but feel a thrill at the knowledge that, behind his composed expression, his every thought is focused on her. His smile is contained, and she knows without a doubt that someone - whether it’s one of their guests, or some reporter out there commenting on the pictures that will be published in a matter hours, if they haven’t been already - will criticize him for looking almost nonchalant about his own wedding. But she knows better.

She knows she’d find his muscles tense with restraint, fighting against the urge to peel her out of her dress right there on the dance floor. He’s put a dance floor of distance between them because he knows that when he gets her back into his arms, there’s no way he’s going to share her with any of their guests again. He kisses her cheek because he doesn’t trust himself not to get lost in her in front of all these people, and she _relishes_ in how powerful it feels to have this effect on him. To pull at the threads of his ridiculously _disciplined_ sense of control and wrap them around her fingers, narrowing his every thought on her.

Oh, she can’t _wait_ to get him alone.

“…pretty sure you haven’t heard a thing I’ve said,” Dick says, his voice blurring back into focus, and she blinks, dragging her gaze away from Bruce to meet Dick’s stare. He still looks amused, of course, and also playfully exasperated, but there’s a tenderness there, too. “You’re both exhausting, you know that?”

“Hush, child,” she replies, and he releases her hands with another laugh, abandoning the dance to pull her into a hug instead. Then he hooks an arm around her shoulders, leading her across the dance floor to Bruce.

She can already hear a few chimes of silverware against glasses, and she rubs her lips together, trying, and _failing_ , to hide her smile. Even Bruce’s eyes are light with amusement, which quickly dissolves into something far more intense as he reaches for her, pulling her by her hips to sit in his lap. She indulges their guests by pressing her lips to his, meaning for it to be short but sweet, but his grip tightens ever so slightly before she can even begin to pull away, his tongue darting out to slip into her mouth. There are a few catcalls and whistles, and she picks out Lois’s cheer out from among the crowd, but she doesn’t care.

Eventually, he eases his lips back, kissing her one last time before drawing away entirely.

He doesn’t get very far, though, with how her arms are wrapped around his neck.

“How much more mingling is required before we’re allowed to sneak off?” she asks, combing her fingers into his hair.

He chuckles, his gaze dropping to her lips. “I’m sure it doesn’t matter at this point, considering half our guests are betting on how early we’ll be leaving.” Lips twitching at the corners, he adds, his voice lower and rougher and far _sexier_ : “I’ve got money on us leaving right after we’ve cut the cake.”

She _laughs_ , kissing the lobe of his ear, feeling his smile widen. “I think for once the odds may be in our favor.”


End file.
